


Bitter Tastes

by likelyvalentine (nokkakona)



Series: Two Drifters [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Autistic Sole Survivor, Couch Cuddles, F/M, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, No Spoilers, Pre-Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokkakona/pseuds/likelyvalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sole Survivor and Hancock indulge in a favourite past-time of theirs: hard alcohol and bad conversation. She's a clingy drunk, but Hancock doesn't mind- he just wishes she would remember it in the morning. Pre-relationship. No spoilers. First chapter can be read stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The thunder outside drowned out the sound of glasses clinking in the lower levels of the Old State House. Fahrenheit had broken out the good wine to welcome back her first-in-command and had invited half of Goodneighbor in the process. The crowd drawn out of the rain by Fahrenheit's promise of free booze was loud and full of people North didn't know. Upstairs, she leaned against an old window, watching raindrops race each other down the panes. 

Hancock was draped across the couch beside her, fending off a draft that was blowing in from a crack in the ceiling. Skipping out on a party thrown in his honor was low on his list of things he felt guilty for, especially when it meant he got to spend a little alone time with his favourite Vaultie. He tugged his hat a little lower over his eyes before breaking the seal on a bottle of vodka with a snap. 

"Bottoms up," he said, swinging it toward North. 

She didn't look away from the window until the bottle touched her lips. "Tastes like something I'd use to melt rust," she mumbled through a grimace. 

Hancock chuckled. "Charlie's stuff probably _could_ melt rust. Not that I'd care to test that theory." 

North settled on the couch beside him. The draft vanished, and North's hair began to flutter. She grit her teeth before taking another long swig, breaking away with a muted gasp. Hancock outstretched his hand and wiggled his fingers, and she snapped the bottle back into his palm. 

"At least he knows better than to give the Mayor that watered down swill he gives me," she grumbled. 

The alcohol burned as it went down his throat. "What can I say? The people know I like to be pampered."

North snorted. "Pampered? No. _Hammered,_ yes."

"We talking the good kind of hammered, or the _better_ kind?" 

She pried the bottle out of his grasp. "Ugh. Confiscated." She threw back her head as she downed another couple of mouthfuls.

Hancock chuckled. "Take it easy. You drink too much of that stuff and no one's having fun." 

North sighed, resting the bottle in the gap between the couch cushions, and fell against Hancock's side. The alcohol numbed his startle. He frowned through the haze in his vision, wanting to analyse the expression on North's face, but all he could focus on was her hair, mottled curls gathering against his neck. 

He threw an arm around her shoulders. When she didn't pull away, he chuckled. 

"Sister, I think you're drunk," he said. 

"A heinous accusation." She moved to take another drink, but Hancock snatched the bottle away before she could touch it, holding it at arms length. It was lighter than he expected. 

"We finish the whole thing?" Ignoring North's whines, he tossed back the last dregs of liquid, then eyed down its mouth. "You really know how to hold your liquor." 

"What slander," she slurred, and Hancock wondered if he had spoken too soon. "I have never taken a drink of anything in my whole life. Temperance is my middle name."

"Damn. All I got was Henry." 

The rain on the roof turned from a patter to a static drum. It rapped against the old windows, muting the glow of Goodneighbor outside. North's hand found his side, curling into the thick red fabric on his jacket. Hancock blew a sigh through his teeth. 

"Hey, you got a last name?" he asked. The words were becoming harder and harder to form. His lips had gone numb.  

"Yeah," North mumbled.

When she failed to elaborate, Hancock bumped the bottom of the bottle against her leg. "Well?" he prompted. "Don't leave me hanging." 

She picked at a piece of torn fabric on one of his buttons. "You already know it," she said. 

"What, North's your last name?" He snickered. "Must have a real bad first name."

"Scuse me, _Hancock_."

"That's John to you." 

"Is it really?" A yawn tinged her words. "I know Hancock's not your last name." 

"It is now," he grumbled. "But yeah, John's the name my parents gave me." 

Her fingers curled through the gaps in the buttons of his coat, touching the shirt underneath. He wondered if she could feel the ridges and valleys on his skin, but he was too drunk to care. 

"John," she repeated. "I like that." She said his name again a little softer and nuzzled into the ruffled collar of his shirt. The heat pooling in his belly dipped lower.

He kicked a leg onto the coffee table. "Hey, you still didn't tell me yours."

He wasn't sure if it was the buzz messing with his head, or if North hesitated a little. "Maridel," she said. 

"Maridel, huh?" The name tasted like wine on his tongue. "What gives? I like it."

North didn't respond. When he looked down at her, he saw that her eyes were closed, and her hand, fisted in his coat, had gone limp. Hancock brushed her hair away from her face, thumb lingering over her cheek. Of course she was hammered. She'd have to be, to want to be this close to him. 

He drew a deep sigh. At the end of the exhale, his chest stilled. Even breathing hurt. 

North's chest rose and fell against his side, a bittersweet comfort. The alcohol blocked the worst of the thoughts. For now it was enough that she was here, even if it wouldn't last come morning. 


	2. Compliments

The morning sun was still dim when Hancock woke with a pounding in his head and warmth in his chest. He greeted the dawn with a pitiful moan. Above him, North mimicked the sound.

"Fuck," she croaked. "Water."

Hancock chuckled, the sound hoarse. "In that order?"

"Water first."

Hancock's heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed his response, instead letting the rare flirtation warm his cheeks. North sighed and rolled to the side, feet sliding onto the floor. The half of his body that she had been lying on burned in the cold air.

"Oh..." She stayed frozen for a moment. "Never again..."

His tongue untangled, but when he spoke, his voice cracked. "That's what you said last time."

With a small noise of disgust, North stood stumbled through the door. The Old State House was quiet, save for the shuffling footsteps of the guards in the stairwell. North passed them with a few mumbled hellos. Soon, the sound of cups clinking together and water running from the old faucet drifted into the room.

Hancock dragged himself into a sitting position, ignoring the black spots that bubbled in his vision. His foot knocked against an empty beer bottle. Apart from the vodka, it was the only evidence in the room that they had had their own private party. _Must be losing my edge_ , he thought. It explained the pounding in his head and the tightness in his gut.

His memories of last night were clear, even through the biting fog in his head. He remembered North's hair, soft on his shoulder, and her hands, wandering across his chest. Guilt settled in his stomach like a rock. Maybe he should have stopped her, but he was so desperate for her touch- any touch- that he never thought to. He clasped his hands together in his lap, squeezing until his palms blushed white.

North's footsteps approached the door, and he forced the expression off of his face, leaning back against the couch cushion. She entered and sat two mugs down on the coffee table, steam swirling up from each.

"Thanks," he said. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and took a long sip from her mug. The steam left a thin layer of condensation on her upper lip.

"You okay, John?" she asked. His eyes tore away from her mouth, and he realised that she was watching him.

"Feels like I kicked in the head by an Assaultron, but I'll live," he said with a shrug.

"No, I meant- you just seem-" She bit her lip. "Forget it."

And there she was again. Distant, discontent. Good old North, Hancock thought.

Her eyes followed a beetle across the rug. She didn't seem bothered by the silence- she never was. But the discomfort in Hancock's belly, a mixture of nausea and fluttering anxiety, prompted him to speak. "So, Maridel," he said. "Mouthful, ain't it? Can I call you Mare?"

The beetle vanished under the couch. North froze mid-sip. "How... how do you..."

Hancock faltered. "You really got no recollection of last night, do you?" He chuckled. "Thought you must have, since you're calling me John."

Her face turned pink, and she clutched the mug closer to her chest. "I don't know why I called you that," she said. "Is it- I mean, is it okay?"

"Didn't really care for the name much 'til I heard it on your lips." Her blush spread to the tips of her ears. She sipped her tea, avoiding his gaze. Hancock chuckled. "We really gotta work on how you take compliments, Mare."

"Thank... you?" she said haltingly.

"Not exactly what I meant." North's lips pursed. Hancock cleared his throat. "So, what do you remember from last night?"

The beetle skittered back out from underneath the couch, and Hancock grimaced, kicking his legs onto the table. North pressed a flat hand into the carpet and let the beetle crawl up her arm. "I remember... I was looking out the window, and then... we were talking about... something," she mumbled, shaking her head.

Hancock's heart slowed a little, but he hid the feeling with a low sigh. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. "Guess you don't remember the part where you bet Fahrenheit a month's supply of jet that you could get KLEO to dance with Kent."

North almost dropped her mug. An arc of hot water splashed onto the carpet, and the beetle took flight, buzzing out through a window. "I what?!"

"Re-lax, Mare," Hancock said. "I'm just pulling your leg."

North bit her lip. "I don't remember much about last night. But I- I remember feeling... happy. So thanks."

Hancock raised an eyebrow. "You should be thanking the alcohol," he said.

The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. "We really gotta work on how you take compliments, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> closure??? what's closure?????? tbh i was never going to finish this so i had to just publish what i had

**Author's Note:**

> her name means bitter in hebrew. also, it's the name of a 4 star motel in ocean city md. the more you know <3


End file.
